of Cloten is not only ridiculous, but hateful; it arises not so much
from a want of understanding as a total want of heart; it is the
perversion of sentiment, rather than the deficiency of intellect; he has
occasional gleams of sense, but never a touch of feeling. Imogen
describes herself not only as "sprighted with a fool," but as "frighted
and anger'd worse." No other fool but Cloten--a compound of the booby
and the villain--could excite in such a mind as Imogen's the same
mixture of terror, contempt, and abhorrence. The stupid, obstinate
malignity of Cloten, and the wicked machinations of the queen--

A father cruel, and a step-dame false,
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady--

justify whatever might need excuse in the conduct of Imogen--as her
concealed marriage and her flight from her father's court--and serve to
call out several of the most beautiful and striking parts of her
character: particularly that decision and vivacity of temper, which in
her harmonize so beautifully with exceeding delicacy, sweetness, and
submission.

In the scene with her detested suitor, there is at first a careless
majesty of disdain, which is admirable.

I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners,
By being so verbal;[62] and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By the very truth of it, I care not for you,
And am so near the lack of charity,
(T' accuse myself,) I hate you; which I had rather
You felt, than make 't my boast.

But when he dares to provoke her, by reviling the absent Posthumus, her
indignation heightens her scorn, and her scorn sets a keener edge on her
indignation.

CLOTEN.

For the contract you pretend with that base wretch,
One bred of alms, and fostered with cold dishes,
With scraps o' the court; it is no contract, none.

IMOGEN.

Profane fellow!
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more,
But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom; thou wert dignified enough,
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd
The under hangman of his kingdom; and hated
For being preferr'd so well.

He never can meet more mischance than come
To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer
In